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THIRTEEN
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Bayou Whispers FOURTEEN
FOURTEENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansCURTIS LOOKED AT Jeannine standing on the first step that led up to Roo’s attic conversion. He finally had a moment to process that Jeannine was back in town. She was really here.And she was pissed.A mix of emotions overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw his arms around her and tell her he was sorry. He wanted to yell at her for going off with that asshole Bernstein all those years ago. He wanted to laugh, to cry. To scream. He wanted to tell her he’d protect her, and it would be all right.But all he could do was to remember to breathe.“Well, it’s a pretty long and convoluted story,” he finally said. It even sounded lame to his ears.“I’m used to listening to long, convoluted stories from defendants,” replied Jeannine. “I think I’d like to hear it.”“Jeannine ... it’s been so long, couldn’t we just ... ?”“No,” she said flatly. “I have some questions, Curtis, and I’m going to get answers fi
Bayou Whispers FIFTEEN
FIFTEENBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansYou are closer to me than any of your predecessorsBCP.She knew this place.It was once one of the leading state-run psychiatric institutions of the American South. Bayou Cypress Pavilion, better known as BCP, was now a crumbling shell of its former glory. The lobby and east wing were destroyed by the floods of Katrina and a subsequent fire that took a hundred and thirty-seven patients’ lives.Cassandra knew of every death that had occurred due to her storm.The place had been abandoned during the hurricane, with the most dangerous of inmate patients left to fend for themselves. Locked in their cells, many either chained or sealed in straitjackets, those who didn’t drown or burn died from dehydration or starvation. BCP was nearly closed after, with the head administrator given a fine and two years at home with an ankle monitor.His was the worst punishment handed down to any employee of the facility.Ca
Bayou Whispers SIXTEEN
SIXTEENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansTHEY WERE OUTSIDEthe cottage, near the parked truck. “Roo, can you get to Charley before those things get here?” asked Curtis through gritted teeth.“Yeah, he’s wrapped up—but I hate moving him before the process is complete.”“Get him into the bed of the pickup. Fernández, go with him.”“Do you expect to waltz through a couple hundred zonbi?” asked an incredulous Gallow, as he pulled a shotgun from behind the couch.“No, I expect we will run away as fast as we can get out of here.”“And go where, Jonesy? My restaurant and house are sure to be covered with cops.”“Back to my place.”“We burned it to the ground, remember?”“I do. You didn’t burn the bunker, though.”“Guys,” began Jeannine. “While I appreciate this macho banter, can we move, please? I’m really not interested in hanging out with the dead again, especially if Papa Nightmare is here, too.”An engine roared outside and Roo screamed something unin
Bayou Whispers SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEENUndisclosed LocationCURTIS AWOKE INsome sort of cell. The dampness reminded him of the hole in the ground he had been kept in for a week in Colombia. He shook his head, the cobwebs faded, and his mind cleared. He had a vague recollection of Roo’s place, bodies crawling toward him. Shotgun blasts ...Gallow. That fucking traitor. He always was a political pussy, cutting deals to save his own skin. That’s why Curtis had ended up in that hole in the ground in Colombia, too. It all made sense now. Gallow’s restaurant in the French Quarter was never a place where he wanted the krewe to meet. “Bad for business, having you criminals around,” Gallow had always said.But crooked cops with the entire state in their pocket?Well, that would ensure Gallow’s place of power within the corrupt local government.How did Curtis never see it?Gallow had saved Curtis’s life during the war. But because Gallow’s motivations were always so coated with self-interest, he’
Bayou Whispers EIGHTEEN
EIGHTEENThe SultanaEASY STREET HADalways loved playing his horn. The music naturally flowed from him. His mama had never been able to afford him lessons when he was younger. When he was alive.He’d stolen his sax—Ms. Maxine, as he’d lovingly named her—from a white man who owned a pawn shop long since bulldozed. Old man Gene loved to beat on black people, especially children. Nobody cared back then. Mostly, they still didn’t care, from what Easy Street had seen.So, he stole Ms. Maxine. But try as he might, he couldn’t get a sound out of her.Until a man named Reggie explained what a “reed” was and taught him how to blow into the horn all proper. He even taught the boy how to hold the instrument. Reggie played records for him, and young Easy Street listened, then noodled on the horn until he found the right notes. In less than a month, the kid was able to play old Ms. Maxine like a pro.“Boy,” said Reggie one day, “I never heard nor done seen the like. You is a natural,
Bayou Whispers NINETEEN
NINETEENU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12FERNÁNDEZ KEPT TRYINGCurtis’s burner. Gallow’s, too. They rang out. “Still not picking up,” he said.“Something’s obviously happened,” said Roo. “We’ll lay low at my cousin’s storage place until we hear from them.”“Why a storage place?” asked Fernández.“It’s one of my bolt holes,” said Roo. “I have a pass card that gives me twenty-four-hour access.”He turned his truck into the facility, stopping at the gate long enough to buzz himself in. He saw the security cameras but was nonplused about hiding from them. Beside him, Fernández struggled to hide his face.“The place belongs to my cousin,” said Roo. “I got him out of trouble a while back. He lets me use one of the bigger units here as payment. His boys will erase the camera footage as soon as they come in later this morning.”Fernández relaxed a little. “Who else knows about this place?”“Jonesy does. He’ll figure we’re laying low and he’ll show wh
Bayou Whispers TWENTY
TWENTYBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHE BAYOU CALLEDto her with scents and sounds—wrapping around her like a favorite blanket. She smelled glorious stagnant pools filled with muck and slime; the subtle peaty smell of decaying leaves and wood—the beautiful, fetid scent of animal flesh giving back to the insects and the plants and the waters of the bayou. Nocturnal animals called for their mates, ate one another, raised their young, and fought over territory. Massive birds screamed at the reptiles trying to hide their hunger. The bayou whispered her new name, whispered approval at her plan.But someone else controlled her body, controlled her thoughts. She fought against it, but the struggle took all her strength. The power of the Loa was as frightening as the knowledge that flooded into her. The bayou laughed at her.Ti Malice laughed at her.This is just a taste, child. It’s your turn now.For Jeannine knew, now, that Cassandra and Ti Mali
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-ONEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12WHILE FERNÁNDEZ SPENTthe night alternating between stacking crap in front of the big metal door and bitching under his breath about “lazy-ass magic douchebags,” Roo prepared for the reanimation of Charley Mouton. The spell used to create the clay vessel for the Golem was relatively straight forward and was to be the last component of the invocation to be done closest to dawn. Using Charley’s degraded tooth to return the ex-Ranger’s soul to the created body, that was the tricky part. Besides, Roo thought, as Fernández swore loudly because the cot he’d just tossed on the top of the makeshift barrier tumbled off the pile and nearly hit him, hard work helps the little man forget he’s been out of chewing tobacco for a few hours. A little before dawn, the bit of yellowing ivory that represented what was left of Charley’s physical form, hummed with stored energy as Roo completed the difficult spell work. Next,
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